Wheel Deal
From February 2007
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My Big Phat SUV
Like the food addict who munches in a darkened kitchen while the family sleeps, I try to hide my 7,000 pounds of excess. I hate myself for loving it. Call it automotive gluttony. I detest every turn of the ignition. But the upshot is oh-so-sweet. It is my brand new, huge SUV. It’s got room for nine, is jet black inside and out, horribly wasteful and wonderfully satisfying. My life is now a conflict, and it all has to do with my dirty not-so-little secret.
I revel in everything from the $45 that the car-wash guy charges me to the $70 it takes to fill the tank. And I hang my head and apologize every time I receive a disapproving stare. But I am so happy inside.
It was only a week or so after I rolled the monster into the driveway (no small task getting it to fit), that my wife ordered me to attend a local showing of the Al Gore documentary, “An Inconvenient Truth.” I love Ashley to death but hate it when she tells me what to do. I hate her liberal-granola twist on everything.
But I hate Al even more. I didn’t vote for him, and I have always thought he just sounded a bit too dimwitted. Too many reasons, I argued, for not going to see a movie that promised no nudity or mobsters. And besides, Ashley was all about the big family truckster when I went and bought it. Perhaps the lady doth protest too much.
Confusion Reigns
I, of course, lost the battle, and 40 minutes later we rolled the beast into the multiplex parking lot. Ninety minutes after that I really hated Al Gore. He hates my super sport-ute, and now he’s made me hate it.
Confused? Just see the movie. Global warming is a bitch, and Al is all over it like solar rays on a glacier. I got a lot of dirty looks pulling out of the parking lot. Ashley hates me for loving this ride, and I now understand why.
But my love for the monster is so easy to understand. La-Z-Boy sells a heck of a lot of easy chairs, and yet who wants to admit they love a recliner?
My ride is fat, comfortable and easy to sit in. But these are all things that you already know. The data ain’t hard to find. The Feds report that in the past 20 years we have quadrupled the number of trucks and SUVs we buy.
It’s more than an automotive trend. Station wagons were a trend. Pinstriping was a trend. The SUV represents a reality that won’t waver any time soon. And it’s because of that very fact I have become a willing participant in destroying the world all of our children will inherit. Overstated? Methinks not.
Switching from an average new car to a 13 mpg SUV for a year wastes more energy than leaving a refrigerator door open for six years, a bathroom light burning for 30 years, or a color TV turned on for 28 years.
SUVs spew out 43 percent more global-warming pollutants; 20 pounds of carbon dioxide per gallon of gas consumed according to the EPA; and 47 percent more air pollution than the average car. They use 1 million barrels of oil a day.
Bikers vs. Al Haters
And those are just a few of the choice nuggets of the anti-SUV argument. So, what’s a dad of three to do? Depends on whom you ask. There are those who lean just a bit left of center that will regale you with advice on bicycle commute options, the benefits of carpooling ... that sort of stuff.
On the other side is the well-meaning conservative crew; they use phrases such as “junk science” when the topic of global warming comes up. Probably just Al haters.
And then there’s me. And my well meaning but image-conscious wife who admitted that despite the offense to her sensibility, that more efficient minivan that we could have scored for $30,000 less is just, well, so dorky. After all, it’s just so cool to look like a “baller” rolling around town in a ride everyone wants to own.
And that’s really the problem, isn’t it? We’re really a horribly shallow bunch. At the end of the day, it’s easy to hang out at a cocktail party and espouse your commitment to the planet. “It’s really a tragedy, all of these big trucks,” we’ll all say. And I am right there leading the discussion, using my automotive expertise as a platform to educate about the nuances of auto emissions and their environmental consequences.
I go to great lengths to chastise the automakers for their collective disdain for the world my grandkids will have to try to rehabilitate. Tragic, I say, as I hand the valet the claim check and watch my phat ride roll up. I love this truck. I hate myself.
The Shallow Truth
By Doug Brauner; Illustration by Dave CurdLike the food addict who munches in a darkened kitchen while the family sleeps, I try to hide my 7,000 pounds of excess. I hate myself for loving it. Call it automotive gluttony. I detest every turn of the ignition. But the upshot is oh-so-sweet. It is my brand new, huge SUV. It’s got room for nine, is jet black inside and out, horribly wasteful and wonderfully satisfying. My life is now a conflict, and it all has to do with my dirty not-so-little secret.
I revel in everything from the $45 that the car-wash guy charges me to the $70 it takes to fill the tank. And I hang my head and apologize every time I receive a disapproving stare. But I am so happy inside.
It was only a week or so after I rolled the monster into the driveway (no small task getting it to fit), that my wife ordered me to attend a local showing of the Al Gore documentary, “An Inconvenient Truth.” I love Ashley to death but hate it when she tells me what to do. I hate her liberal-granola twist on everything.
But I hate Al even more. I didn’t vote for him, and I have always thought he just sounded a bit too dimwitted. Too many reasons, I argued, for not going to see a movie that promised no nudity or mobsters. And besides, Ashley was all about the big family truckster when I went and bought it. Perhaps the lady doth protest too much.
Confusion Reigns
I, of course, lost the battle, and 40 minutes later we rolled the beast into the multiplex parking lot. Ninety minutes after that I really hated Al Gore. He hates my super sport-ute, and now he’s made me hate it.
Confused? Just see the movie. Global warming is a bitch, and Al is all over it like solar rays on a glacier. I got a lot of dirty looks pulling out of the parking lot. Ashley hates me for loving this ride, and I now understand why.
But my love for the monster is so easy to understand. La-Z-Boy sells a heck of a lot of easy chairs, and yet who wants to admit they love a recliner?
My ride is fat, comfortable and easy to sit in. But these are all things that you already know. The data ain’t hard to find. The Feds report that in the past 20 years we have quadrupled the number of trucks and SUVs we buy.
It’s more than an automotive trend. Station wagons were a trend. Pinstriping was a trend. The SUV represents a reality that won’t waver any time soon. And it’s because of that very fact I have become a willing participant in destroying the world all of our children will inherit. Overstated? Methinks not.
Switching from an average new car to a 13 mpg SUV for a year wastes more energy than leaving a refrigerator door open for six years, a bathroom light burning for 30 years, or a color TV turned on for 28 years.
SUVs spew out 43 percent more global-warming pollutants; 20 pounds of carbon dioxide per gallon of gas consumed according to the EPA; and 47 percent more air pollution than the average car. They use 1 million barrels of oil a day.
Bikers vs. Al Haters
And those are just a few of the choice nuggets of the anti-SUV argument. So, what’s a dad of three to do? Depends on whom you ask. There are those who lean just a bit left of center that will regale you with advice on bicycle commute options, the benefits of carpooling ... that sort of stuff.
On the other side is the well-meaning conservative crew; they use phrases such as “junk science” when the topic of global warming comes up. Probably just Al haters.
And then there’s me. And my well meaning but image-conscious wife who admitted that despite the offense to her sensibility, that more efficient minivan that we could have scored for $30,000 less is just, well, so dorky. After all, it’s just so cool to look like a “baller” rolling around town in a ride everyone wants to own.
And that’s really the problem, isn’t it? We’re really a horribly shallow bunch. At the end of the day, it’s easy to hang out at a cocktail party and espouse your commitment to the planet. “It’s really a tragedy, all of these big trucks,” we’ll all say. And I am right there leading the discussion, using my automotive expertise as a platform to educate about the nuances of auto emissions and their environmental consequences.
I go to great lengths to chastise the automakers for their collective disdain for the world my grandkids will have to try to rehabilitate. Tragic, I say, as I hand the valet the claim check and watch my phat ride roll up. I love this truck. I hate myself.
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